Hands
by mangochi
Summary: Dorian liked John's hands.


**A/N: I HAVE SO MANY FICS I NEED TO FINISH I AM SO SORRY I intend on finishing every last one of them because I hate WIPs and it pains me deeply that I have so many- facepalms-**

**Also, sorry for the short ficlet spam, this is why I usually keep it on my other account, but, you know, it's a new year and all...**

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Dorian liked John's hands.

He liked how they moved, how they gestured, how the fingers curled around the steering wheel and reached for the thermos and waved in the air when John talked.

He watched them when he thought John wasn't looking, out of the corner of his eye or even full on if he felt bold enough. His own hands weren't nearly as interesting, all smooth skin and flickering circuits beneath.

John's hands were nicked with small scars, not-quite-healed scabs reddening the knuckles from when he'd taken down a perp or scraped them carelessly against a wall. His fingers and palms were rough with calluses, and now, as Dorian pressed a careful kiss against each and every one, his fingertips tasted like salt.

"You like that?" he murmured, drawing away enough to look at John consideringly. The man's face was reddening, a light sheen of sweat glistening across his temple, and the flickering streetlights from outside the car window painted his face in stripes of orange and black.

"Stop messing around," John told him, but his voice was unsteady and he didn't move to pull his hand away from Dorian's. It wasn't like this was their first time doing this in the car, or something like it, but John got inexplicably nervous every time, like Maldonado was just around the corner or an MX was about to rap on their window.

Dorian scooted closer, leaning across the gap between their seats, and he flipped the lever beneath the cupholder, tilting John backwards with a startled squawk from his partner.

"What the-" John cut off with a harsh exhale as Dorian settled himself on his lap and raised his hand to his lips again, mouthing at John's palm curiously.

"You do like this." He smiled against John's skin and traced a crease in his palm with the tip of his tongue. John sucked in a shallow breath, his eyes fixed on Dorian's face between the gaps in his shaking fingers. Dorian rested more of his weight across John's thighs, feeling the man shift up and against him unconsciously, and he impulsively opened his mouth and curled John's index finger between his lips, wrapping his tongue around the digit.

John made a strangled noise, his own mouth fallen slack, and his other hand clutched at the hem of Dorian's jacket. "Dor-"

Dorian hummed, scraping the edge of his teeth delicately against the back of John's finger and receiving another muffled groan in response. He pulled off with a smirk, nibbling his way down and sucking at the thin webbing between John's palm and thumb. He could taste faint copper from a small cut that hadn't healed over yet, probably a paper cut John hadn't even noticed himself.

John seemed to be forcing himself to take deep, even breaths, but he gulped audibly when Dorian reached for his face with his free hand, brushing his own thumb against John's bottom lip.

_Come on_, Dorian urged silently, his eyes never leaving the other man's as he rubbed distracting circles against the thin skin over John's wrist. "John," he said aloud, weighing the word on his lips and tongue.

John swallowed, and Dorian could see the bob of his flushed throat above his collar. He seemed to reach some sort of decision, the agony clear in his eyes, and Dorian couldn't suppress a shiver when John slowly opened his mouth, pressing a light kiss to Dorian's thumb.

Dorian was kissing him before either of them fully realized it, a hard collision of closed mouth to mouth that felt as good as it stung. John issued a surprised grunt, but his hand was already unclenching from Dorian's jacket to cup the side of his face, pulling him closer.

He liked John's hands, Dorian thought fuzzily, sparks of circuitry fizzing in his vision as John kissed him with the fervor of a starving man and dug his fingers into his back, legs falling open beneath him. And somewhere along the line, he'd started to love them.


End file.
